


Snowstorm

by swordliliesandebony



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Bucky Barnes, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 04:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17358776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swordliliesandebony/pseuds/swordliliesandebony
Summary: There are excuses at first, then there are none at all. No apologies or concern. There is discretion, but only when the neighbors are at risk of hearing, only when the bed creaks a little too loud and the sound of a radio from the next apartment over is drifting through paper-thin walls. Between the two of them, there is nothing. Nothing but heat and affection and deep adoration.





	Snowstorm

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to my loves in the FFXV Writers Discord, who for some reason encouraged me to write this.

In the winter, the apartment is drafty and cold, bitterly so, and it's the perfect excuse to get up close, bodies slotted together. Just a little bit of heat built up, just enough to keep them heated beneath the scratchy old blankets. In the summer, it swelters and there's no good excuse other than that sweat-slicked skin pressed together can still be pleasant, the way it slides and sticks and glides in tandem.

There are excuses at first, then there are none at all. No apologies or concern. There is discretion, but only when the neighbors are at risk of hearing, only when the bed creaks a little too loud and the sound of a radio from the next apartment over is drifting through paper-thin walls. Between the two of them, there is nothing. Nothing but heat and affection and deep adoration.

"You're late," Steve reprimands, once the door is shut and Bucky is stripping away his coat. His voice sets the tone for the evening and it wins the curling of lips into a smile. Bucky doesn't say that it was a hard, long day or that a few extra hours mean extra cash, mean the difference between having a drafty apartment and no apartment at all. Because he likes when Steve gets in these moods, all demanding and a little domestic. Warms his iced heart right up.

"Yeah, well, I'm here now." Bucky shrugs it off the same way he does with his scarf. His clothes are damp with snow, his boots kicked off once he has the moment to sit and unlace. That moment comes after Steve slots himself into his arms for something of a customary embrace. It doesn't always go like this, but Steve can get needy and Bucky can feel the same, and this is an evening where it's well-received all around.

He can feel a tremor in that tiny body, defenseless against the cold. He should be under blankets, he should be wearing more than he is, but Bucky can't complain about the state of undress, the shorts and the undershirt and, well, he can't be  _ that  _ cold because there's the first sign of an erection pressing in against his thigh. He groans and shifts, gives a little contact to help it along.

"You're lucky I waited." Steve huffs, and Bucky damn well knows he is. He wouldn't put it past Steve to give in and get off without him, and then they'd have to wait a little while and Bucky doesn't feel much like waiting any longer. He leans down to press his lips at Steve's hairline, mumbling a little apology that goes unheard.

"Damn right, I am. Hope you're not makin' me wait, too." Bucky doesn't show any indication that he's inclined to, stripping right out of his shirt, stepping out of his pants, leaving a heap of laundry in the corner that will make Steve crinkle his nose and chastise him more. Later, though, when there isn't a nice little spark of heat between them. When they don't need to fend off that bitter cold. Not that they really pretend that's all they're doing anymore. 

"No," Steve says slowly, but his eyes are on fire and there's no calm in his voice. His hand lands around Bucky's hip and draws him across the tiny studio to the bed—two beds, actually, pressed together—all the force he can muster in the action. For such a little guy, he can make a point when he's trying to. "But I should. I should make you sit there and wait long as I please." Bucky receives a shove to the bed and he falls with some exaggeration, crawling backward toward where a headboard might be if they actually had one. Instead, his back braces against that thin wall and he  _ hopes _ that the thud of his head against plaster isn't enough to raise any suspicions.

"But you won't." Bucky smirks, and it wins him a growl of disapproval, one that seems a little ineffectual, given the fact that Steve is still crawling into his lap, is still fixing to drag those neatly trimmed nails in fine pink lines down his chest. It makes Bucky's back arch, makes him go quiet with all the challenges in mind dying on his tongue. So it's going to be like  _ that  _ tonight. He feels a thrill of excitement, the twitch of his cock growing to life.

"Only 'cause I don't feel like waitin'." Steve makes that point clear by silencing whatever protest Bucky might have come up with, pressing their lips together eager and hard. Teeth clash briefly, before lips are parting and tongues are swiping and heat is building between them. Bucky is  _ keenly _ aware of the press of Steve up against his belly and his hand goes behind the smaller man, tugging him closer, tugging him so that the heat there presses firm and fiery.

"Then don't wait. You want me like this?" Bucky wiggles a little, he arches his chest again and he makes it absolutely clear that he's showing off, all hard muscle shifting beneath pale skin. He knows damn well that Steve likes to look, but he likes to look right back. His fingers are tingling, itching at the hem of Steve's undershirt to lift it off and, thank  _ God _ , he's allowed to do just that.

Steve is all slender perfection as far as Bucky is concerned. All perfect skin waiting to be touched, waiting to be  _ loved _ . He's all heaving chest and cherry lips, swollen from attention. And he's all hard against his lightly sunken belly in those shorts, begging for attention, begging for Bucky to follow him, doing it  _ outright _ —

"I want you hard, and you're only half there. Makin' me wait again." Bucky knows the irritation is an act and he goes along with it fully, giving a look of apology while he dips his hand beneath his briefs, gives himself a few good, heavy strokes to help the process along. And it isn't exactly difficult, with Steve perched on him the way he is. Just a  _ little  _ bit longer and Bucky would have been there, no touch required, but Steve is impatient tonight and he's stubborn as ever, and Bucky isn't testing  _ that  _ trait.

"That better?" Bucky keeps his hand wrapped firmly around himself until Steve makes to swat it away, his eyes narrowed. If his face wasn't so flush Bucky may have thought he was actually meant it, too. But he still gives in and raises his arms in submission, breathing heavier for the pleasant weight of Steve against him, for the obvious press that told him Steve enjoyed watching those brief moments more than enough.

Steve grunts in the affirmative, but he's squirming in Bucky's lap, his fingers moving quick to strip him down further. Bucky doesn't have so much as a hint of trouble lifting his hips—and Steve along with them—to allow for it. He gets a little glare there, but it feels good to be stripped bare and, in the end, Steve is crawling off of him anyway. Damn it.

"Turn over." Bucky obeys without a second thought. There's demand in Steve's voice and he isn't about to test that, not with how impatient he's being, not with how this roll is going. He enjoys the hell out of it, likes when Steve takes charge, tells him what to do. There's something so satisfying about listening to him, obeying his command, giving Steve that  _ power  _ over him, just for a moment. And when Steve gets demanding,  _ God _ , all that slight build suddenly becomes so commanding, suddenly takes over all the space in the bed, all the space between them.

So Bucky plants his cheek against the pillow and he raises his bare ass into the air, and he knows that's what he's supposed to be doing because he can hear Steve sigh and he can feel the grip of a hand along muscular curves, a thumb circling in a light, massaging motion. It feels good, sends a jolt straight through him, sends his erection twitching.

"Better." Steve breathes, and there's a moment of shifting, where Steve is reaching over him to the bedside table for the little jar there. He really  _ is  _ eager, then, foregoing most of their normal play, dipping fingers into the slick and then, with only a word's warning, dipping a finger inside Bucky. It makes him gasp and arch his back, and that gets Steve's free hand gripping him again, this time at his hip. "Relax, Buck."

And, slowly, he does. Because Steve's voice goes soft for a moment, so much more familiar, just as easy to obey. He loves Steve. He realizes that in little places, in unexpected moments, ones like this. Ones where they're in the midst of it, where something slips into place and his heart feels full to bursting. Simple words, spoken easily, sending his head buzzing with outright adoration.  _ Relax.  _ It's not so hard to do.

Steve moves to wrap a hand around Bucky, to give him slow, easy strokes while his finger presses in, hooks up, grazes his prostate and makes him squirm again. He's always slow with this part, always so meticulous about making sure Bucky is enjoying himself just as much. Bucky feels lips at the small of his back when the second finger presses in, opens him up a little further. 

It feels good, just like it always feels good. Just like  _ Steve  _ always makes him feel good. Even when he's demanding like this, impatient and needy, he takes the time, he makes the effort, and it makes Bucky love him more, impossibly even more. It's something simple, something so easy, the way he shifts his body and stretches it so he can breathe reassurances into Bucky's ear when he forces a third finger inside. It's the way he moves to touch him right, to make sure he's feeling good. It's his chest pressed bare and heaving against Bucky's back. It's all good, it's all  _ perfect. _

Steve is breathless behind him, but that's nothing new. Bucky might have reason to worry, if it were any other time, but Steve knows his limits and damned if he wouldn't get a good cuff on the ear for suggesting otherwise. Besides, there's no stopping what's been put into motion now. Bucky is absolutely throbbing in his hand, already leaking from the tip, feeling Steve smear it around while Steve's fingers work in him.

It isn't long, isn't too many bursts if pleasure and hums of reassurance before Steve is withdrawing his hand, before Bucky can feel the tip of his cock pressing in against him instead. He presses his face further into the pillow and he braces for that first sting of something more. It's fucking magnificent, feeling Steve slide inside, feeling that perfect  _ fullness _ . Knowing who it is, knowing what it means, what it  _ shouldn't _ mean, but what it does.

"Steve," Bucky groans the name and it's so natural on his lips this way. He closes his eyes against the first sting, but Steve's hips begin to move and he feels his hands on his shoulders, and it all eases up. It all switches over to pleasure, pure and simple, more quickly than he might have imagined.

The pace is as frantic as the press to bed, as the preparation had been. All so quick and needy and Bucky likes that feeling. He likes it a hell of a lot. He likes being thrown down into bed by Steve, pressed face-first into the mattress, manhandled a little bit. He likes to know he's wanted so badly that Steve is rushing, that fingers are fumbling where they grip, that hips are snapping and breaths are heaving in exertion.

Most of all, he likes the feeling of Steve inside him, slender and perfectly curved, making Bucky see stars behind his eyes when his hips snap forward just right. Making his head buzz with pleasure while Steve's hand continues to work around him. The waves of pleasure never recede, only build into that fever pitch, that crescendo that has heat pooling in Bucky's belly. He grips into the sheets, bracing himself, ready for everything to evaporate into bliss.

It happens between gasps from Steve, gasps of Bucky's name, hot and eager on his lips. He tips over the edge and he plunges headfirst. And somewhere along the lines, somewhere in the afterglow, he's aware of Steve filling him up, hot and wet, leaking and making a mess of the bed. He doesn't care. They'll change the sheets and curl up in too many blankets and it will all be forgotten.

But right now, right now it's perfect, with Steve going soft inside him, the two of them frozen in place and in euphoria together. And Bucky, Bucky always wanting more, always ready to leap back into action, if he could just have a few minutes to collect himself. But Steve is there, detaching and giving Bucky another shove so that he lays back on the messed sheets, spreads the sticky wet around, promises more of a clean-up, maybe a shower shared between them.

"Feel better?" Bucky pants the question, when Steve is collapsing all breathless against his chest, making himself comfortable there. Bucky takes the initiative to pull blankets up around them, chill seeping in from spaces in the door and cracks in the walls and windows that don't seal quite right. He would shiver, if not for the heat of their bodies pressed beneath those blankets.

"Not as good as if you'd come home on time." Steve is still playing at a pout, but there's no real venom in his voice, no  _ true  _ upset. Just the hints of someone who may feel a little...what? Spurned? Not exactly, not with the welcome Bucky was given.

"Snow was bad. Walk took a while." Bucky makes his tone properly apologetic, but it doesn't seem to work—backfires, in fact.

"Snow was real bad. I worried." And that part makes a little bit more sense, if not fully. He wants to say it's not like Steve to worry so much, but it's exactly like him. It's probably a miracle Steve didn't come out looking for him, after the first hour had passed. So he squeezes an arm around Steve's slender frame and apologizes properly before he goes on.

"Takes a lot more than some snow to keep me away from you. You know that." He receives a begrudging hum of agreement in return, and he decides that's enough. Steve is exhausted, it's apparent in the way his shoulders sag against him, the way he relaxes so easily against Bucky's chest. Bucky will have to tend to the apartment, cook some dinner, gather up an extra blanket or two from the sofa. But that can wait. For now, he's content with Steve in his arms, and with the feeling of having been thoroughly fucked and thoroughly missed.   

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still learning how to [twitter](https://twitter.com/stinuhhhh). I'll probably just give in and make a fandom-y tumblr soon.


End file.
